


The Lost Boy

by Zeeexp



Series: Mafia SBI [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Grian and TommyInnit are Siblings, Imprisonment, Mafia AU, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Watcher Charles | Grian, platonic marriage, sbi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29894766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeeexp/pseuds/Zeeexp
Summary: "Welcome back, Theseus." Techno smiled, his army of henchmen standing impassively behind him."Fuck you, Technoblade," Tommy snarled, all fangs and claws and prickly anger. "Piss the fuck off."Tommy's rehab arc/therapy arc. Set a decade after Problem Child, Problem Family.
Relationships: Charles | Grian & Phil Watson, Charles | Grian & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Charles | Grian & TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: Mafia SBI [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197998
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Chekov's Gun

Chekov's Gun is a law.   
  


The law dictates that any elements in a story must be relevant to the plot line, and irrelevant elements must be removed, in turn removing any false promises to the audience.   
  


A prime example of this would be a gun hanging on the wall.   
  


If the gun is shown in the first act, then it must be fired by the last act.  
  


In short, a Chekov's Gun requires the characters to use it, whether the outcome is good or bad. 


	2. BIG MAN IS BACK

"And here is my house." Tubbo swallowed nervously, watching as Tommy take small steps into the house. Not like he could take any bigger steps; his feet and hands were chained together, and two burly officers flanked him.   
  


They unlocked his chains, did a cursory sweep and clapped an ankle monitor onto Tommy and left, nodding brusquely to Tubbo.   
  


The entire process was quick, clean and efficient.   
  


Tommy rubbed his sore wrists, grimacing slightly. "Tubbo, how long do I have to stay at home for?"  
  


"A few months at least, until you show them that you can behave."  
  


Tommy scowled, but he was quick to disguise it. Tubbo had gotten him out of jail after all.  
  


"Thank you," he said begrudgingly.   
  


Tubbo raised an eyebrow. "Tommy, you've changed."  
  


Tommy bit back a bitter laugh. Of course he had changed. Ten years in prison would do that to you, with no one to visit him, not even someone to talk to when he was beaten up. But he said nothing, shrugging absently.  
  


He shifted, looking closer. The whole house reeked of opulence. There were fancy vases, oil paintings, even that rich people smell that he was so familiar with.   
  


"Alright, well Wilbur isn't going to be back for a while, and I've got a friend coming over." Tubbo looked at Tommy sideways. "Stay safe, big man."  
  


"Where's my room?"   
  


"Second door on the right. Toilet's down the hall."  
  


Tommy wandered into the room and shut the door. The first thing he did was to change out of the prison clothes and into a fresh shirt and jeans. He inspected the ankle monitor with disgust.  
  


Leaving the house was not going to be an option any time soon.  
  


* * *

  
  
Grian had heard the news. Everyone in the underworld had. One of the lieutenants of the Angel of Death was up for grabs.   
  


It was old news to Grian.   
  


He had been keeping an eye on Tommy. Shame he couldn't get Tommy out, but Tubbo did that for him. He must remember to get Tubbo a Christmas gift. But for now, he slipped the baker a letter.   
  


Her face clouded over with confusion, but then she nodded. Grian walked out of the place, and he smiled wickedly to himself.   
  


Phil would like to hear about this, wouldn't he? His estranged son.


	3. Sky's the Limit

"So, Grian's the name, right?" Phil said, stepping closer to the shorter male. He looked down at his own suit, doing a perfunctory check of himself.   
  


The red clad skydiver looked down at his own nameplate, where his name was stencilled. "Yes. And I see you're Philza."   
  


Phil hummed. "I didn't know you did wing suits. It is pretty dangerous."  
  


Grian slid his helmet on and through the red tinted visor, Phil could see his eyes crinkle in amusement. "Would you like to bet then? We'll do the same jump, and see who can do the most tricks."   
  


"Oh, you're on." Phil slipped his own helmet on as well, the black visor darkening the whole world. He checked himself down one more time and stepped onto the plane. he offered a hand to Grian, who refused his hand and got onto the plane himself.  
  


The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom, informing them that they were lifting off, and that they would be able to fly within fifteen minutes, half an hour maximum.   
  


Grian switched on his intercom, waiting for Phil to do the same.   
  


"So, how's the business going?" Grian started off.   
  


Phil huffed. "I thought I told you? I've retired, Watcher. I'm old, and I've left SBI in capable hands."  
  


"Right, right." Grian nodded. "Which one was it?"  
  


"What?"  
  


"Which lieutenant?"  
  


Phil laughed. "Is that what they're calling my sons? Lieutenants? I passed SBI on to Technoblade."   
  


"Why not Tommy? He's a great businessman; if given enough tutoring, he could've been the next heir."  
  


"Yes, but he went to jail, didn't he? You can't guide a syndicate while in prison."  
  


The pilot's voice came over again, telling them that they were at the suitable jump height, and he wished them a safe and fun jump. Grian got up and zipped up his suit, opening the door.   
  


"Maybe so. But Tommy got out, courtesy of Big Law." Grian saluted Phil and dropped off the plane.  
  


"Maybe you should call!" Grian shouted, switching off his intercoms immediately after.   
  


* * *

  
  


Tommy blinked.   
  


His reflection blinked back.   
  


The clock ticked on, annoyingly loud in the background.   
  


He was alone at home again.   
  


He scratched at his freshly-shaven chin absently, shifting himself in front of the mirror.  
  


He was going stir crazy, locked up in the house.  
  


"Fuck!" He yelled. The house echoed it back at him. He grinned.   
  


"Shit! Bitch! Pussy-"  
  


A door opened, and there were footsteps skidding down the stairs. "What's going on- who are you?"  
  


In front of him stood a lanky teenager, all bony arms and legs. He had a mop of unruly orange hair, and his eyes were carbon copies of Wilbur's. Right now, they looked like Wilbur's when Tommy did something to annoy him; all scrunched up, but with humour dancing in them. 

  
"Hello, Furry." Tommy grinned, getting up off the floor from where he was lying down. "Nice to see you too."

  
Fundy's eye twitched, to Tommy's delight. Wilbur's never did that. "Fundy!! My name is Fundy!" 

  
Tommy cackled. "If you're not a furry, then what's that on your head?"

  
Fundy's hands shot up to the cat ears on his head, and he flushed a brilliant red. "That- I- Shut up! It was for a- thing!"

  
"Sure, sure," Tommy snickered. "That's how it always goes."

  
"You- shut up you prisoner!" 

  
Tommy's smile dropped from his face, and he felt the ankle monitor again, rubbing against his ankle. "What did you say to me?" Tommy growled, towering over Fundy.

  
Fundy shrank into himself, and Tommy felt a savage spark of satisfaction in him.

  
Then, the door opened. 

  
Fundy looked at him, his pupils dilated with fear. He darted into his room, and Tommy heard the door lock from all the way where he was. 

  
"Tommy? Is that you?" Tubbo called out. Tommy rolled his eyes and turned to move away- 

  
-only to hear the excited squeals of a child. He spun around, looking over the banister. Tubbo was there, standing beside an absolute behemoth of a man. 

  
He was tall, likely higher than Tommy, and his face had black and white splotches on them. He was dressed in a suit, and his dyed hair was styled in such a way that black and white streaks were visible.

  
"Tommy!" The man said happily. "Tubbo's told me so much about you!" He dashed up the stairs, three at a time until he was standing in front of Tommy.   
  


"I'm Ranboo, Tubbo's partner." He stretched out his hand, and Tommy shook it.   
  


Tubbo snickered. "In more ways than one."  
  


"Tubbo."  
  


"Yes?"  
  


"Is that a child?"  
  


Tubbo and Ranboo looked down at the little boy nestled in the former's arms. He looked up at them and cooed.   
  


"Right yeah, this is Michael. He's our son."  
  


"I- your- huh?" Tommy spluttered. "I leave to go to prison for ten years and you get hooked up? Who's the mother?"  
  


Tubbo looked at Ranboo. "Do we flip a coin?"  
  


"We did that last time."  
  


"So I'm the mom?" Tubbo sounded absolutely delighted.   
  


Ranboo sighed. "You're the mom."  
  


Tubbo looked back at Tommy, shifting his grip on the child. "This is my husband, Ranboo."  
  


"Husband? What the hell, Tubbo?" Tommy exclaimed.   
  


"Would you rather I marry you then?" Tubbo frowned. "I mean, it might be a little wonky, but I'm sure I could get the paperwork done up."  
  


"Fuck no! I'm not marrying my best friend! Anyway, why did you two get married?"  
  


Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other, then at him. "Tax benefits," they chorused.   
  


Tommy groaned.


	4. Bee n Boo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael, Tommy, Ranboo and Tubbo's relationship is what I live for.

Tommy lounged on the sofa, watching as Michael coloured in a picture. He had salt and pepper hair and a white splotch on his face, exactly like how Ranboo's was, and blue eyes, just like Tubbo's. It was hard to believe that this was an adopted kid. "Hey Michael, what're you drawing?"  
  


Michael looked up at him and held up his half-finished drawing. It was a picture of Tubbo and Ranboo, with a tiny Michael in between. It was titled "Bee n Boo".   
  


"Boo!" Michael pointed to Ranboo. He then babbled incoherently and jabbed at Tubbo.   
  


Tommy suddenly had a brainwave. "Michael, say shit."   
  


Michael stared up at him.  
  


"Come on, it's not hard. Shit. Shh-eet," Tommy coaxed. Michael shrieked in glee and grabbed at Tommy's shoulder length hair that he had neglected to cut since his release from prison.  
  


"Ow-"  
  


"Shit!" Michael looked up at Tommy with large puppy eyes, the kind that Tubbo would used to pull when he wanted Tommy to follow him to his various competitions.   
  


Tommy felt himself melt.  
  


"Michael, you are so smart, you know that? Now, let's try pogchamp. Or poggers, poggers is fine."  
  


"Poo!"  
  


"No, Michael, poo is for pussies. We say shit in this household."  
  


"Shit!"  
  


"Attaboy, Michael."

* * *

  
  
When Tubbo came back, the house was a sight to behold.   
  


The living room had been transformed, with throw pillows, blankets and tents erected. Fairy lights were draped over the banisters haphazardly, and various art supplies were scattered all over the floor.   
  


But what shocked him the most was Michael, sleeping peacefully in the arms of Tommy, whose hair looked like it was braided with what looked like sparkly barrettes, colourful hair ties and what looked suspiciously like glitter.   
  


Tubbo nudged Ranboo, pointing to the sight. They shared a quiet chuckle together, and Tubbo took a quick photo of it.   
  


Quietly, they tiptoed upstairs, waving hello to Fundy and closing their door.   
  


"I can't believe Tommy actually likes Michael," Tubbo began, loosening his tie.   
  


"You know, I was under the impression that Tommy was...how do I say this? He's not a good guy, you know? Maybe even a little feral, I don't know." Ranboo said, taking out his red and green cufflinks and dropping them onto the table.   
  


Tubbo laughed. "Oh believe me, I know. The things he would do as a teen; they were off the charts I tell you."  
  


"I heard that he landed in prison because he burnt down that casino by the main road," Ranboo said. He was treading cautiously, watching for any signs in Tubbo that signified he didn't want to talk anymore.   
  


"He didn't. We were framed, but he took the fall." Tubbo turned away. "Now come on, dinner isn't going to cook itself."  
  


Ranboo sighed, watching Tubbo. Sometimes, even though he had insisted that he had moved on, Ranboo got the feeling that Tubbo was still plagued by the past.

* * *

  
  
Tommy awoke to darkness, save for a singular slat of light shining from the kitchen. He shifted, feeling clouds of glitter settle on his shoulders and onto the child clinging onto his chest. He set Michael down gently, pulling a blanket over him and tucking him in.  
  


"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Tubbo smiled, raising his wineglass in mock salute as Tommy stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was messy and squashed on one side, and his shirt was buttoned wrongly.   
  


"Shut the fuck up," Tommy grumbled, rooting through the fridge and taking out a bottle of coke. He uncapped it and took a big drink, sighing contentedly.   
  


"Sleep well?" Tubbo sipped delicately from his glass.  
  


"Better than the last ten years." Tommy slowly pulled out the barrettes, hair clips and hair ties that held his hair up, combing it out with his fingers. It was caked with glitter, and Tommy bemoaned the fact that it was probably never going to come out again and he would have to walk around with hair that was fucking rainbows and sparkly.  
  


"How was prison, then?"   
  


Tommy sighed. He looked down at his hands, his cracked fingertips and broken nails, and picked at them absently. "It was terrible, big man. I don't want to talk about it now."  
  


"That's okay," Tubbo said. "We can just sit."  
  


It felt like the old times again, when Tommy would sneak out to see Tubbo. Except now, it was different. A lawyer and an ex-convict were sitting together around a kitchen island, while the world slept around them.

**Author's Note:**

> HALLO HI I'M BACK DID Y'ALL MISS ME


End file.
